


Maybe You Should Talk About It

by space_caramel_kaspbrak



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, kiara is a lesbian, sorry I don't make the rules - Freeform, there's mentions of john b and sarah but they're not actually there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_caramel_kaspbrak/pseuds/space_caramel_kaspbrak
Summary: JJ starts living with Pope and problems arise- the problems being: they're gay for each other and don't want to acknowledge it.
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 289





	Maybe You Should Talk About It

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this for like two and a half weeks so here it is! im so sorry that this hot piece of garbage that no one asked for is over 12,000 words long. i hope you enjoy it nonetheless because i did enjoy writing it!! i'd love to hear some feedback, it would make my day.
> 
> i _would_ like to point out that there is a section in this that's kinda violent between jj and his dad. i wouldn't say that it's any worse than what is shown on the show (it might even be more mild) but i went ahead and noted that part with asterisks if you would prefer to skip it!
> 
> btw can you tell that i'm kind of in love with kiara here??? what a queen, it's a shame the show writers hardly gave her a personality other than girl.
> 
> my tumblr is @caramel-kaspbrak if you'd like to hit me up <3

It starts like this:

The night that everyone presumes John B and Sarah to be dead, Pope's father hugs his own son in sheer relief and pure love, and then he pulls JJ in too, which is no doubt a sign of acceptance. And JJ gratefully takes it, with Pope's arms around him, and his father's and mother's arms too. How could he not, with the warmth radiating off of them like sunbeams he has been deprived of his whole life?

JJ's father has never embraced him like that, not once that he can remember. Perhaps he had when JJ was a newborn, still young and innocent and malleable, before he figured out that not everyone's daddy hits them when a drink is spilled or the dog runs away.

So, yes, to be hugged and accepted by Pope's parents is a feeling that JJ is overcome by, one that he wishes he could feel forever, even if it meant that forever is only this single moment played on repeat.

About an hour later, after things have been sorted out a little more and the crowd of people has begun to disperse, JJ is left alone- again. Sitting in the same seat he had been in while he, Kiara, and Pope were waiting for the SBI agents to make contact with John B and Sarah and bring them home. Sitting alone, with his head hung, hat in his hands, tears of anger and frustration and sadness in his eyes.

Kie and her family left a little more than 15 minutes ago with an itch to get home, and the Heywards are putting on their raincoats and picking up their things to leave in a formal, grim manner that reminds JJ of preparing for funerals.

JJ sits there waiting for nothing, until Pope sees him looking so low-spirited- so... _heartsick_ , and he knows that brave-faced JJ doesn't have anyone to come pick him up, no one to meet him here, no one to care for him while he is slumped in this delicate moment. Pope must have been staring for ages at him because, minutes later, his parents are following his line of sight and realizing exactly what has to be done, even if Pope's father has some type of grudge against JJ for corrupting Pope, for being a bad influence on him.

It isn't Pope to walk over to JJ, although he desperately wanted to do it, had desperately wanted to reach out and make JJ feel better with just the touch of his hand to JJ's shoulder and ease his pain; but it is Pope's father, Heyward, who takes the responsibility. Caustiously, he approaches JJ, with the intent of asking the boy to spend a few nights at their place.

But JJ looks up at him with such a timid, frightened expression like that of a child, that Heyward nearly breaks to pieces right there in front of him. How could someone raise their son, their own flesh and blood, to be so alone and afraid? It makes Heyward regret things that he has done to Pope, although he knows there is quite a significant difference between the two circumstances, although he knows he did those things out of love and to better him rather than out of hatred and disgust.

"Why don't you come stay with us for a few days?" Heyward's asking him heedfully, because he doesn't want to force him into something that he doesn't want to be stuck in. He wants JJ to feel safe within their home and with them in general because Heyward knows it isn't safe in his own.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," JJ replies with wet eyes and a sorry, hoarse voice. Pope can practically hear it from across the tent where he's watching with a perpetual gaze, anticipating JJ's answer, and it slices right into his heart. He wants so badly for JJ to stay with them, to be away from his father so that the tension will ease from his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask," Heyward says softly. As much of an asshole as JJ has proven to be to Heyward, he still needs someone to treat him better. Heyward is willing to be accounted for that. "I'm offering it to you. I'd _like_ it if you stayed with us."

Standing on shaky legs and broken promises, JJ accepts Heyward's offer and falls into his arms like he is just simply too tired to carry on without him. So Heyward wastes no time in returning the gesture, holding JJ and rubbing his back until he is ready to leave.

In the car on the way home, Pope reaches for JJ's hand with tears in his eyes, and JJ takes it, surprised, but thankful no less (Pope almost never initiates the physical contact they share). Neither of them let go until they absolutely have to; only when they arrive at Pope's house and have to get out on opposite sides do they part.

If Pope's father sees it in the rear-view mirror, he says nothing.

In fact, he doesn't say anything when, on his way to bed that same night, he peeks his head in Pope's bedroom to check up on the two of them, and the makeshift bed on the floor is abandoned. Doesn't mention it when he sees that JJ is tucked in Pope's bed right alongside Pope himself, both exhausted from a day of heartbreak, and fast asleep.

  


* * *

  


The next day, JJ wakes with a crick in his neck and Pope's back to him. Pope's sitting up, rubbing his eyes like he had just woken up. JJ had slept shirtless because of the heat (he also didn't have any other clothes to spare at the moment), but Pope had not. It makes JJ suddenly feel very exposed. He tries to put it out of his mind.

"Dude, fuck, my neck hurts," JJ grumbles sleepily, massaging the back of his neck, eyes closed against the bright morning sun shining through the cracks of the brown curtains in Pope's bedroom.

"Yeah," Pope replies in a muttered voice, pulling on his socks, "You slept halfway on top of me the whole night."

JJ curses himself. "Sorry," he says shamefully, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. Why exactly did they sleep in the same bed? The longer they lay there together, the more it seems like a terribly bad idea.

"Don't worry about it," Pope assures. He stands, makes an expression that JJ can't quite place, and motions for him to get up. "Come on. We should go get our stuff from John B's house."

Oh... yeah. _That's_ why they slept in the same bed. Because they had felt like children all over again, worried and jittery about the unknown darkness, and afraid of being too lonely at the loss of John B and the newly-befriended Sarah Cameron. So JJ had offhandedly suggested they sleep together, not really intending for Pope to take him seriously, ready to play it off as a joke at any second. But Pope had taken him quite seriously, because he didn't want to feel so lost either- and maybe because of something else too.

They both get up, and dress in the room together (facing opposite walls, of course), like they're some old married couple, except JJ is pointedly avoiding Pope's eyes, avoiding the urge to glance back at Pope when he's taking off his shirt to replace it with a clean one, avoiding Pope's hands when they reach for the lightswitch at the same time on their way out the bedroom door.

They eat breakfast downstairs with Pope's mother hovering over them like a loving mother bear, and JJ has never felt more at home, although Pope silently wishes that she would sit down and stop fretting about them.

JJ remembers when his mother was still around to make him breakfasts of bacon and hashbrowns and orange juice that she squeezed herself. He hasn't had someone make him breakfast since he was 7 years old.

So when Pope's mother asks him how he slept, or how he likes his eggs cooked, or if he wants more to eat, JJ is happy to indulge in the conversation with a cheerful grin that he reserves specifically for her.

_Yes, ma'am, I slept great._

__

_No, ma'am, this is plenty, thank you._

__

_Scrambled, please. Thank you very much._

He smiles at her with a certain sense of fondness in his eyes, and Pope has never seen such a side of him, never knew that JJ had an arsenal of manners hidden behind his cement walls of anger and cover-up jokes.

After breakfast, they each kiss Pope's mother on the cheek, and take JJ's bike to John B's house, and when they arrive, the both of them are far more solemn than they were before they took off from Pope's driveway, joking and shoving and nudging shoulders.

John B's house is vacant, and the doors are locked.

"I thought they'd be ready to get rid of this thing and clear out all John B's shit already," Pope admits while JJ bothers with the handle. He looks around the place, at the backyard and the porch where he's spent so many hours of his life, and realizes that there can never be any more of that. Even if they did, just he and JJ and Kiara, it still wouldn't ever be the same again. It leaves a sickening, almost nauseous feeling in his gut, in his heart, in his throat.

"Maybe they know he's still alive," JJ proposes casually. He refuses to believe that John B and Sarah are dead. He'll probably take it to the grave with him, telling his grandkids that his best friend found the gold from the Royal Merchant and is _alive_ , damn it, in the Bahamas, drinking pina coladas with his wife.

Pope, however, is a skeptic. He has hope, but he knows the facts. That aside, he has no intention of spoiling JJ's wishful thinking, now or ever.

He doesn't say anything, and when JJ finally manages to successfully pick the lock, Pope remembers that there's a spare key under the welcome mat (not to mention the house key that JJ has specifically for times just like these, but JJ can never remember to bring his keys with him anywhere he goes).

It's even worse inside the house than it is outside; everything seems to be covered in a bittersweet nostalgic dust that leaves an indisposed, heavy feeling deep in the pits of the boys' stomachs. It's strange there without John B, without the assurance that John B will be there soon. In fact, he'll never be there again, whether he's alive or not.

JJ and Pope go off to different rooms on opposite sides of the house to scope out their things and keep anything they so desire before the DCS or who-the-fuck-ever cleans it out and sells the damn thing. It's so quiet that one could hear a pin drop; they don't speak the entire time. They even avoid each other, like it's some sort of ceremonial ritual that must be done solitarily. Perhaps, in a way, it is. JJ finds it therapeutic to go through the house one last time and look at all things that represent John B and his wonderful legacy, pulling things from under cushions and selecting items from shelves to keep (most of which do in fact belong to him, but some that don't); Pope just thinks it's depressing to sit in the hollow memories and be forced to choose his favorites to take home.

Pope is waiting out on the porch when JJ finally wraps it up, comes out of the house with one of John B's old middle school backpacks with his initials stitched into the strap slung over his shoulder. There's a blank look on his face and a heaviness in his chest.

"You good?" Pope asks him soberly.

JJ rests a hand on Pope's shoulder, smiles at him like everything's okay. "Yeah," JJ answers, jostling Pope forward good-naturedly until they're close enough to bump noses. Pope swears that JJ's eyes are on his mouth, but if they were, it was just for a split second, so he thinks maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. "I'm good."

  


* * *

  


JJ hasn't been high in over 48 hours, which is kind of a new record for him considering the pressuring circumstances he's been held under by the scruff of his neck. Usually when he's stressed out, whether it be because of his father or the despairing feeling he sometimes gets when he thinks too much about money or losing his friends, JJ is itching for a hit of relief from some restorative chronic.

So when Pope leaves for his nightly shower, JJ strategically slips out of Pope's bedroom window and rolls up a joint in the backyard like he's done it a thousand times before, except he hasn't.

Twenty minutes later, he's climbing back in at the same time Pope is returning from the bathroom, all fresh and clean with little droplets of water still hanging in his hair.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Pope whisper-shouts, lunging forward to catch JJ by the arms when he trips getting his other leg in.

Pope smells of the crisp freshness that follows a person after a shower- of ivory soap, tap water, and the honeysuckle laundry detergent that his mother washes his clothes with. There's a hint of something else, a unique scent that is tailored to Pope, that makes JJ think of him every time he smells it but one he could not put a name to even if he tried.

He's close, helping JJ stand all the way up, interfering with his personal space. It does things to JJ, things that he'd rather not talk about with anyone.

"Climbing in the window," JJ says certainly. He leans into the hand that Pope has secured on his shoulder, keeps his face in a close vicinity with Pope's.

"What were you doing out there?" he asks, even though he's quite sure he already knows the answer. He peeks around JJ to look out the window, only to be met with darkness and no real clues as to what he was up to.

"Smoking," JJ answers. He sways a little, with the grasp of Pope's hand unfaltering, just as it always has been.

"What, like weed?"

JJ scoffs, throws a hand in the air theatrically, and walks off toward the hallway. He says something about going to watch television downstairs, and Pope wastes no time in hurrying after him to make sure that he doesn't do anything stupid because the scoff translates roughly, in the articulate language of JJ, to _yes, I definitely just blazed up out there._

JJ's favorite thing to watch while stoned out of his mind is animal documentaries. Unfortunately for him, animal docs happen to be daytime tv, so he is stuck with Wheel of Fortune, which doesn't appease his mind very much at all.

He's sitting close to Pope on the couch- too close, with their arms pressed together and their knees knocking- and to compensate for the shitty tv, he's poking Pope in the side and hooking their ankles together: the kind of elementary-style pigtail-pulling that Pope thought was stupid when he was 8 (now he doesn't mind it so much). Either Pope's mother doesn't care or doesn't even notice at all because she's in the middle of a very serious sewing zone, hardly saving time to glance up at the tv to see if Greg has managed to surpass Angela's total, or whatever it is that goes on during Wheel of Fortune. Pope's never really understood game shows.

Then JJ's getting up and stumbling to the kitchen, and it crosses Pope's mind that he should follow him in there just in case, but he doesn't. JJ spends a hilarious amount of time fiddling with the fridge door and bothering with a plastic bag so that it makes that annoying crinkling sound. Pope sits frigidly, hoping to God that his mother doesn't ask any questions.

JJ comes back with a glass of milk that he sets on the coffee table (with a coaster under it!) and a handful of chocolate chip cookies; it's the first time he's taken something from the cupboards without timidly asking permission beforehand. He sits on the floor- swats Pope's legs until he spreads them apart so that he can fit between them- like he hadn't even been sitting next to Pope just moments before.

Pope's mother clears her throat just as JJ is hooking his hands under Pope's knees to put his legs over his shoulders. Pope squeezes his eyes shut and whispers _please please please_ because he doesn't know if he could handle attempting an explanation for JJ's current predicament. His mother doesn't look up though, doesn't even seem acknowledging of their presence in the room until she's reminding JJ to get a napkin and not get any crumbs on the floor- even then she doesn't look up, just murmurs it as a soft reminder. So JJ leaps up and does just as he's told.When he comes back, he doesn't have to situate himself because Pope's slinging his legs over JJ's shoulders without a second thought.

Pope knows that JJ gets clingy and affectionate when he's high, so he doesn't know why he gets nervous and starts sweating up a storm when, after he finishes the milk and cookies (that reminds Pope of 6th grade all over again, when JJ was wildly obsessed with getting to the end of the week because the lunch ladies always served milk and fresh cookies every Friday), JJ holds Pope's ankles in his warm hands and traces the letters of the alphabet into the skin of Pope's calves. This is a totally normal JJ occurrence, and yet something is different about it, something feels off.

Pope kind of gets himself lost in the soft feeling of JJ's fingertips circling at the mosquito bites on his legs and the gentleness that JJ applies when he brushes his hand up and down Pope's calf every few minutes. It's almost like Pope is high with him, except he isn't because this is much better than he had felt when he was high.

When Heyward walks through the living room, Wheel of Fortune has been replaced with some little news program and JJ's head is resting on Pope's knee. He hasn't moved in ten minutes; Pope's wondering if he fell asleep like that.

Pope is nearly asleep too and almost misses the strange look his father sends his way, one that is not necessarily meant for him to reply to. It isn't exactly out of the ordinary for JJ to be touchy with Pope, slinging an arm over his shoulders, bumping his hip when they pass each other in the hallway, throwing soft punches at his back occasionally.

Quietly, his father says: "I need to talk with you, Pope."

It sends goosebumps up Pope's spine and he's suddenly wide awake. He gives JJ a light smack on his cheek and bounces his head up with his knee.

"Dude, stop," JJ mutters sleepily. He stumbles when he goes to stand, and Pope has to help him up. "'M gonna go to bed," he says. He kisses Pope on the cheek like it's a regular thing, like he does it all the time. Like it'd be weird if he didn't. It leaves a fizzy feeling in Pope's belly that he pushes away.

Pope's father is facing the other direction in the kitchen, so he guesses it's okay.

"What is it?" Pope asks after he's made sure that JJ is up the stairs and in their room with the door closed. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, ready to make a quick getaway, even though he knows he doesn't have the balls to do something like that. He peeks up the staircase anyway, makes sure that JJ is still in the room.

"I think you should come back to work soon," he suggests casually, and it's not what Pope is dreading at all.

Heyward has let Pope off the hook for not working at the shop because of his dead-friends-and-police-scare thing. It's been a few days though, and Pope hasn't seemed too distressed.

Pope nods, and agrees to get back to work on Monday.

When he gets back upstairs, JJ is already stripped to his boxers and fast asleep in the makeshift bed on the floor. It's a shame, really, because Pope was going to ask him if he wanted to sleep up in the bed with him.

  


* * *

  


"They think we're dating," Pope says unbelievably one day while they're boiling in the heat of Pope's bedroom with the windows closed, just the two of them. He's furrowing his eyebrows at just the thought of it, "Isn't that weird?" He's smiling, almost laughing.

They, as in Pope's parents.

They told him that this morning after breakfast, after JJ had gone back upstairs to change into his day clothes. They had whispered to him about it, so as to not let JJ in on the secret. They had said that it was okay, and Pope had looked at them like they were crazy. _Me and JJ dating? No way!_

JJ's sitting right beside him, watching Pope as he lays down, back flush with the bed. They're close, but they're also not; the five inches between them suddenly feels like light years away.

It's been three days since JJ starting staying at the Hayward residence, and he's grateful for every second that he's allowed permission to be there. Pope's mother spends an incredible amount of time fawning over JJ like he's some wealthy, far-off relative that's staying for an indeterminate amount of time whom she's trying to impress with large meals and sweet talk. It embarrasses Pope to no end, all the warm, motherly touches and light-hearted attention that she gives to JJ unsparingly.

That aside, it's been three boring, tedious days (because they were told to lay low for a while and keep out of trouble) of Pope and JJ either being crammed into Pope's bedroom together or sitting in the living room watching television while Pope's mother sews and watches her midday soap operas, rocking in her chair.

Before all this happened, JJ had been to Pope's house a grand total of four times, none of which were for more than half an hour, so he doesn't quite know all the ins and outs of Pope's house yet, which floorboards to avoid because they creak, which cabinet he has to slam shut because it's offset, which topics of conversation are a big no-no for Pope's parents. So JJ doesn't exactly like to wander too far from Pope's side, as if he's a lost puppy that has a taken a special liking to Pope.

_Pope's parents think we're dating, and it's weird._

JJ has to tear his eyes away from Pope at that. Is it weird? No, not really, JJ thinks. Not weird at all. Because to be fair, they do act like it. They act like it, and JJ knows that it's only an act. But he also knows something else- something that would ruin things between them, and JJ can't afford to fuck up another meaningful relationship with someone who has been nothing but gracious to him.

"Is it though?" JJ asks quietly in response, glancing over at Pope from behind wide eyes. Like he's nervous. Like he's scared to say something. And the thing that keeps hanging him up, over and over again (because he's thought of this too many times), is... when has JJ ever been afraid to say something, to mouth off? Except around his father, and even then he's kept a considerably loose mouth on him simply because he can't help himself.

"What?" Pope says curiously, with a questioning little chuckle at the end of it.

He didn't hear it. JJ could play it off.

He doesn't.

"Would it really be weird though? If we were, I mean," JJ wonders, picking at the fabric of his threadbare baseball cap in his hands. He's _really_ screwed shit up this time. Forget about being jumped by druggies or chased by cops or beaten half to death on a multitude of occasions. _This_ is what will kill him in the end. Pope, and his stupid interrogating eyes.

Pope's oblivious expression is fading fast, turning to something that JJ would rather not see: hesitation, confusion, which both leads to possible rejection. "If we were dating..." Pope repeats slowly, pointedly, like he hasn't fully caught on yet.

JJ looks up now, putting on a brave face, trying to seem confident. And in a way, he is. This has been a long time coming, if he's being honest. He is very sure that he is living his life for Pope at this point, or at least that's what it feels like sometimes.

"Yeah, like... dating and hanging out together all the time and, y'know, kissing and shit. Would it really be weird if we did? We're kind of together all the time anyway," JJ admits timidly, even though they both already know that it's true, that it isn't some taboo secret to be whispered about between the two of them. But JJ's getting anxious, bouncing his knee up and down, even though they have this mutual who-can-stare-more-yearningly thing going on that they don't mention and Pope practically has to rip JJ off his arm to even get down the stairs in the morning. "I mean, I went to _jail_ for you, man! I took the fall for you, and- and I didn't even have to think twice about it. Like I was ready to do that. For you, man-"

"Dude," Pope interrupts suddenly, waving a hand through the air to wash away JJ's words. "I meant it's weird that they thought we were dating." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe if JJ were as smart as Pope, it would be the most obvious thing in the world, but there's a calm, mischievous look on Pope's face and JJ knows it isn't supposed to be that way.

And, _oh_.

JJ's nodding, surprised and shocked and afraid all over again, like he's been doused in ice cold water. "Yeah," he says, looking at Pope's dresser against the wall, looking at the contents of the bedside table, looking at anything that isn't Pope. That in itself is unlike him. "I knew that," JJ assures him falsely with a little smirk that he hopes puts him in the clear.

Pope scoffs, rolls his head to face away from JJ. "Sure you did," he says, reaching out to slap a hand down on JJ's lower back good-heartedly like nothing had happened at all. Like everything is normal, even though JJ feels like he just bore his naked soul to Pope and nothing had come of it, despite his preparation for the worst.

JJ's laughing with him, letting the whole thing roll off his back. But Pope spends some time mulling it over in his mind.

And they don't talk about it. They don't dare talk about it.

Not even when they start to feel more comfortable around each other, living in close quarters and all- moving around each other as if they've been doing it for years. Not when JJ comes out of the bathroom fresh from his shower with water dripping from his hair and just a towel around his waist because he forgot to bring some fresh clothes with him, and Pope stares a little too long at JJ's shoulders, at JJ's chest, at JJ's back, at JJ's _everything_. Not when Pope studies his summer schoolwork, tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration, and JJ watches him from the bed, watches his slender fingers flip the pages of his textbooks, watches him lick his chapped lips, watches him write down little notes to remember and highlight small pieces of text.

And they certainly don't talk about it when they start sleeping in the same bed again.

Of course, _of course_ that first night was an exception, because they were both lost and hurt and needed someone to be close to. But now it's different because JJ's been sleeping with his head on Pope's collar, face against his neck, arm thrown over his chest, and Pope has been wrapping his arms around JJ's shoulders every night before he drifts off to sleep in a far better manner than he ever has in his life. And it isn't because they're lost or hurt anymore; it's because of something else, something that they prefer to shove away from them, towards the other side of Pope's room, deep into the dark closet that houses both of their clothes.

They don't talk about it when, nearly a whole week later, it's close to impossible to ignore the fact that Pope is avoiding Kiara. JJ wants to bring it up, wants to ask questions, because he's sure that it has something to do with the... _quandary_ that he and Pope have dug themselves into, but he doesn't. It isn't really his place to say something, especially if he really is the reason that Pope is steering clear of her.

Since John B and Sarah's disappearance, JJ has had contact with Kiara only a handful of times. Most of them were just a few days after the big night, but the texts and calls have started to trickle out and slack off because Kie has drifted into her own world, her own mind, to cope. He imagines that she's picked up more shifts at the Wreck to compensate with all the time that she ordinarily would have been spending with her best friends.

Pope bumps into her- quite literally- on his way to the post office though.

She's carrying what looks like delivery orders in plastic bags, a drawstring backpack hung loosely on her shoulders. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she looks beautiful with the midday sun radiating off of her like this.

Pope picks up the cardboard box he had dropped and tucks it under his arm. "Sorry," he says awkwardly, trying not to make it obvious that he's avoiding her eyes, avoiding having to explain that he was ignoring her because the kiss they shared didn't reflect his words. He knows she's going to say something anyway because that's exactly who she is.

"You're sorry?" Kie repeats, furrowing her eyebrows and pursing her lips. "Have you been avoiding me intentionally, or was it by accident?"

He's always kind of admired her blunt, take-no-shit attitude, but right about now, it's biting him in the ass. He looks at her to see if he can accurately gauge her current emotion, and then looks up at the sky when he's met with an annoyed expression. "I know," he starts miserably, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ditched you like that."

"Damn straight," she mutters. She looks around the street, then rests the bags in her hands on the sidewalk. "I just lost my two best friends, Pope. I can't lose you too."

Pope hangs his head, suddenly feels very guilty. How could he have deserted her like this? "I know. I've just been... Things have been really weird, and _confusing_ for me lately," he admits, even though there's no explanation good enough to justify his absence.

"Yeah. Me too," Kie says quietly, introspectively, like she's skirting around something that she isn't going to say out right.

And, suddenly, Pope and Kiara, staring at each other like there isn't anyone else in the world, are on the same plane of existence. In this one instance, they are understanding of something about the other that no one else has ever understood; they are looking through the skin and bones of the other like it isn't even there, looking right into the soul of them to know what's happening without saying it aloud.

How does one explain the spiraling sensation of silently being in love with their best friend anyway? How can one put that distinct experience into words that are beautifully complex enough to properly represent it?

 _Sarah_ , she wants to say, because maybe her name alone is enough.

 _JJ_ , he wants to say, because that's what's always on his mind.

They don't have to say it though; they know.

Kie nods shortly, lets a tight little smile curve at the side of her mouth like she's been waiting for so long to express this with someone. She sticks her hand out between the two of them: a peace offering. "Friends?"

Pope grins, confidently slaps his hand against Kie's and shakes it happily. "Forever."

  


* * *

  


"I been waitin' for you to come home, boy," JJ hears as he's trying to quietly shut the front door. The same prickling fear that has been tormenting him for years freezes up his movements, but then he quickly remembers that he isn't afraid anymore. That he's capable, and that he's brave.

He spins around to find his father, sweaty and shirtless, sitting at the dining room table with a clutter of cans, tools, and other assortments surrounding him: the usual image. JJ uncomfortably gives a curt nod to suffice as a greeting, and starts inching his way towards the direction of his bedroom.

"Hey, Dad," he greets, taking off his hat to have something to do with his hands. He doesn't want to linger on talk of any sort with his father right now. Just wants to pack his things and go back to Pope's house, get a hug from Pope's mother (because she gives the best hugs), bury his face in the blankets on Pope's bed, and hopefully never have to leave that house again. He adjusts his backpack and sighs at the look on his father's face.

A wave of dread flashes through JJ's mind as he wonders if coming back was a mistake because his father could very easily turn on him and call the police to feed them some ridiculous story about JJ that they're bound to believe. But he knows his father wouldn't call the police because calling authorities would mean answering questions that his father does not want to own up to.

"Where you been for the last week?" he asks expectantly, like he knows the answer. And, sure, he likely already does; he can probably tell because JJ is wearing one of Pope's shirts, because the smell of Pope's house has already overtaken JJ, because where else could JJ have gone?

His father is walking towards him, so JJ makes his way to his room- or, he realizes in a wonderful, fleeting thought, his old room, the one that he previously stayed at when no one else would have him. JJ's father follows him slowly, boots thumping on the hard wood and making it sound much more frightening than it actually is, like the forces of the universe are testing JJ, trying its hardest to make him afraid again.

"Around," JJ answers, dropping his bag on the bed and wondering where he should start. "John B's, and Pope's," he continues, more quietly this time.

"John B's and Pope's?" he repeats in a mocking manner. He's blocking the doorway, legs wide and arms crossed over his chest. JJ knows that the only other way out is the window if things really go south (not that he's ever had to resort to that), and that makes him suddenly feel very trapped. "Well, I guess that means you've got yourself all taken care of then," his father decides sarcastically.

JJ glances over his shoulder at him from his place at his dresser. He knows where this is going, can taste it on his tongue already, can feel it in his mouth, in his bones. He picks up the pace- rips open drawers, pulls things out, staggers over to his bed to shove it all in his backpack under his father's watchful gaze. He'll deal with the mess later; for now, his top priority is getting everything he needs, everything he can't live without, although most of what he can't live without is already on Pope's bed studying, just as JJ left him.

"It means I have a couple places to crash every now and then," JJ corrects. He opens the last drawer in his dresser- the one where he keeps things that aren't clothes or shoes or hats, the one where he keeps the miscellaneous objects that he just can't get himself to throw away- and closes it without taking anything because he'll handle the emotional baggage when his father isn't breathing down his neck about where he's been staying (when has he ever cared about that before?). The contents of the drawer roll around and clink together.

"Every now and then?" he asks incredulously, eyebrows raised, like he was actually worried about how long JJ's been away from home. "A week, son. You been gone a whole week," he waves his hand, brushes that out of the way, "Whatever; I don't care too much about that. What I do care about though... is my boat that mysteriously went missin' the same time your friend John B drowned in the ocean."

JJ stiffens. It's still a fresh wound, John B and Sarah going down with the Phantom and all. Just when he thinks he's recovered from it and the scab has finally healed over, something like this happens and he's bleeding all over again. But, no matter about his slowly-healing, sensitive wounds, because the Phantom is gone for good and he knew that his father would be pissed about that, even when he was taking the key from around his father's neck, even when he and Kiara and Pope were in the middle of stealing it. He put all that aside, and now he's taking the shit for it. Like he always does. He thinks that it's completely worth it though; he'd do anything for his friends- his _family_ \- and his father is just a small price he has to pay for it.

JJ can't even think of anything to say. He's too frozen over. The only thing he can think to do is pack faster, so he tears open his closet and yanks tee shirts and hoodies and shorts (the shorts matter the most because JJ wears a different size than Pope does, and thus cannot share with Pope like he already does with the shirts) off their hangers to ball them up and put in his backpack.

He isn't quite fast enough because he can feel his father step closer to him, and then in an instant, JJ's being wrenched away from his belongings. He swallows his fear, but avoids the glare of his father.

"I'm talkin' to you, boy," he growls lowly right in JJ's face.

JJ knows what this tone of voice means. He braces himself.

"The Phantom, you mean," JJ says questioningly, in order to deflect the conversation. His father nods deliberately, and JJ realizes that there is no way in Hell that he could talk himself out of this. He rubs his palm against his thigh and cocks his head to the side. _Might as well try, right?_ "I don't- uh-"

*

As quick as a flash, his father is bringing a hand down on JJ's face, bruising it for sure, and holding him at the back of the neck. He shoves him, face down, on the bed, where JJ lands right on top of his backpack. He finds it in him to be thankful that nothing too breakable was in there- only clothes and some cigarettes.

"Don't play dumb with me," his father challenges. He's standing right behind JJ, waiting for him to get back up just like he knows that he will. "I know you stole it from me. Probably swiped the key when I was sleepin', huh?" he says. He rests on one foot and then the other and the floorboards creak under his weight. "What else you stealin' from me? Or did you have that Heyward boy do the dirty work for you?"

At that, JJ rises up and whips around to face his father in the blink of an eye, adrenaline rushing and anger rising. He wonders when he got so much slower than his father, because as soon as he sees a glimpse of his face, JJ feels those familiar knuckles scrape across his cheek and then all he's seeing is stars and then the material of his sheets. He groans, crawls around against the bed, doesn't dare get back up.

"I know you did it," his father says as he rolls up his sleeves, "There's nothin' you can do about it now, except take this punishment."

JJ makes a whining sound somewhere in his throat because he's watched this scene before, he knows how it starts, how it ends, and he would rather not see it ever again. But he has to, there's no other choice he has now- can't slip out the window, can't run away. Tears well up in his eyes and he buries his face in his blankets, awaiting what he knows will come.

"Stand up, boy," his father demands.

JJ hesitantly does as he's told; he stands, turns around, and waits patiently with his arms hanging helplessly by his sides.

"You're costin' me a lot," he says, as if JJ doesn't already know that, as if JJ doesn't already feel guilty enough, "First that 30k for sinking a rich boy's boat and now you go and sink my Phantom? That's a lot of money, and I'm takin' it outta you."

His father get two punches in- one to the side of his face that had yet to be hit and one to his stomach, where he can already feel it blooming with purples and blues- before JJ hears the clear clicking sound of his father switching open a pocket knife and sees the glint of light reflecting off of it from the afternoon sun. The fear bubbles up inside him again, but he stops it before it has time to boil over.

"Dad, please, no," JJ reasons. He puts his arms out in front of him and lowers himself just in case.

It seems that JJ's dad has little tolerance for begging because he's grabbing JJ by the wrist so hard that his fingers are turning white and JJ is sure that his wrist is bruising now too. Then JJ feels the cool metal of the blade against the side of his left arm, and he knows that his dad has officially, completely lost it, or however much of it he had left.

"Now, remind me, how many boats was it that you sunk?" his father's asking, just to torment him.

"Two," JJ answers through gritted teeth. "I sunk two boats."

"Yeah, that's right. Two boats that you sunk," he agrees, pressing the blade into JJ's skin where a tiny line of blood makes way, "So, this is one for the Phantom... and one for the-"

Suddenly, JJ's jerking away from him, and he guesses that maybe there was a better way to handle that because the knife cuts further down his arm. He reaches under the mattress and, almost reflexively, pulls out the gun that he had almost forgotten he put there.

His father stumbles back in surprise, but doesn't let that falter his stance. He wipes the bloodied pocket knife off on his jeans as if he's getting ready to stab JJ and get the job done once and for all.

JJ points the gun at him, reminds himself that this is just self defense because otherwise he would later feel guilty. His father opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but JJ brings the butt of the gun down on his head before he gets the chance. He really doesn't care if his father was going to say something or not. There's nothing he could say to change JJ's mind about anything anyway.

*

He puts the gun in his bag and moves even faster now; he doesn't know how long his father will be out. He gets the rest of his things from the closet and then goes to the dresser drawer that he failed to empty out earlier.

There isn't much inside, but he takes only the things that mean the most to him because he decides that he needs to be carrying lightly: a friendship bracelet that Kiara made for him when they were in middle school, an empty silver flask with a fancy-looking M on the front that JJ is sure is worth some money, about 50 dollars worth of five and ten dollar bills that he keeps hidden on the underside of the drawer, and a silly, candid picture of his mother that he himself had taken when he was six.

He looks around for his extra pair of shoes- a pair of old, dirty black Converse- and when he finds them, he ties the laces together and lets them hang around his neck. He hasn't worn these shoes since last summer but it's all he's got, so he takes them anyway, hoping that they still fit.

Once he's done with that, JJ slings his backpack over his shoulder, and leans down over his father. He thinks about kicking him or something, just to let off some steam, just to get some revenge, but he doesn't want to stoop to his father's level. Instead, he reaches down with two fingers and checks for a pulse under his father's jaw because after all is said and done, JJ is not a killer.

There is a pulse, a vaguely normal one by the feel of it. JJ doesn't know why there wouldn't be; his father has taken far worse and come out on the other side just fine.

He gives his father a pat on the back, and then he's leaving.

He can feel a trickle of blood running down his arm and dripping to his elbow. He just wipes it off for now; he can fix it when he gets back to Pope's house.

This time, despite his stress, JJ has no desire to light up in the corner of Pope's room with the window open and Pope eyeing him nervously. Instead, he simply feels different, a little empty maybe too.

  


* * *

  


When he gets back to Pope's house- his house now, too, he supposes- he rushes inside with the speed of a hurricane, hoping not to run into Heyward, or even Pope, or worst of all, Pope's mother, because she would just about roll over and die if she saw him beat up like this.

Fortunately, no one spots him, but he has to pass Pope's room to get to the bathroom and that is his downfall, because the door was left wide open and Pope catches his eye just as he's racing down the hall.

"JJ?" Pope calls worriedly.

JJ doesn't answer, just throws himself in the bathroom and closes it behind him. He goes to lock it but there's no lock on the doorknob. Somehow, he always manages to forget that. Why wouldn't the bathroom door have a lock? The Heywards have always been a little better off than JJ was money-wise, and JJ's bathroom had a lock on it. So what's the deal?

He hears Pope knock on the door, and he swears. He turns the faucet on and splashes his face with cold water.

"JJ, if you don't open the door, I will," Pope says, and it's so like him, isn't it? To give a warning, to prepare, to ask questions before he does anything.

"Dude, do not open the door," JJ insists. He hunches down, tries to stick his arm under the spout, wipes at the trail of blood that is stained on his tricep. "I'm takin' a piss right now."

"No, you're not. I can hear the faucet running," Pope replies.

JJ rolls his eyes. "Alright then, I'm whacking one-" he pauses as Pope swings open the door and steps inside, and then straightens out, lowers his voice- "out."

"Holy shit, man. What the fuck happened to you?" Pope's asking anxiously, holding JJ softly by the wrist and looking back and forth between the cut on his arm and the scrapes on his face.

JJ dodges the fingers that try to touch his face. "It's nothing, Pope. I'm fine," he says unconvincingly, attempting desperately to brush Pope off and go back to dealing with his wounds alone as he is so used to doing.

Pope glances down the hall to make sure that his mother and father are no where to be seen, closes the bathroom door quietly, and then looks at JJ knowingly.

"What, are you locking us in the bathroom together now? That's kinda gay, bro," JJ quips, grinning because if he's lucky, Pope will laugh too and brush it all off like it's no big deal. Because it _is_ no big deal; it's nothing JJ hasn't handled before. But Pope's giving him an unsatisfied little sigh that means he's not buying a word JJ is saying. "I said I'm _fine_ , Pope."

"You are _not_ fine," Pope protests, taking a step closer and putting a hand softly on JJ's shoulder. "Nothing about this is fine." He looks over the bruises on JJ's cheek, the cut on his arm. Something crosses Pope's face, but JJ distracts himself by glancing down at his mouth. When he looks back up, Pope's already looking him in the eyes with some sort of tender, pitying expression. "Let me help you, " he offers, tries to guide JJ backwards so that he'll sit on the toilet seat.

" _No_ ," JJ says suddenly, jerking himself away from Pope, "I can do it myself."

Pope is taken aback and a silence settles over them for no more than five seconds, and suddenly, JJ is crying, because he can go from hot to cold in the blink of an eye like that- all quiet whimpers and burning eyes and painful regrets. Pope only realizes it when JJ is falling into him and murmuring something about his dad. So Pope wraps his arms around JJ even though he's sure to get blood on his shirt, even though he and JJ have never been in much of a hugging relationship. Pope is willing to change though.

They lose track of how long they stand there: in the bathroom with the door shut, JJ's head buried in the crook of Pope's neck, JJ's fingers gripping onto the back of Pope's shirt like if he doesn't hold on tight enough he'll float away, Pope swaying them side to side in a way that reminds him of having nightmares as a kid and being cradled back to sleep by his mother.

Pope holds him until JJ feels okay enough to pull away, wiping at his eyes with the back of his dirty hands. They still touch though, with lingering hands and long-lasting, delicate gazes that mean more than just meets the eye.

"'M sorry," JJ's saying, turning back to the sink to tend to his war wounds, "Guess my old man was right all along; I'm a pussy."

But Pope is guiding him to sit down on the porcelain lid of the toilet, saying, "Hey," which sounds a lot more like _no, you're not_. "I've got it," which sounds a lot more like _I've got you_.

Pope cleans him up, makes him feel better with questionable bedside manner that JJ wetly giggles at. And JJ swallows the lump in his throat, looks at Pope just as Pope is looking at him, and hopes that this disease that is plaguing him never cures itself.

"I gotta tell you something," JJ says cautiously, quietly, because he's worried how Pope will react.

Pope is still fussing over JJ's bruises, even though there isn't much else he can do for them other than kiss each one tenderly and let time do its thing. "Okay," he replies vacantly, occupied presently by a healing cut on JJ's forehead that is definitely older than the bruises from today. Pope refuses to recognize that, still holds JJ's head in his hands to examine it thoroughly.

"It's important," JJ says, grabbing Pope by the wrists to stop him. He opens his mouth, closes it, doesn't know where to start. Pope looks at him expectantly, so he mumbles something incoherent like the immature, 10-year-old that he is at heart.

"I did not hear a word you just said, man," Pope says.

JJ sighs, rolls his head over on his shoulder. He's dreading this. "I said I have the gun," he repeats, only slightly louder than he did the first time because Pope's mother and father are just downstairs.

Pope's reaction is neither better or worse than what JJ had envisioned; it just simply is. JJ had thought it over in his mind on the way home. Best case scenario: Pope doesn't get upset and lets him hide the gun in his sock drawer or something. Worst case scenario: Pope yells at him a little- okay, a _lot_ \- and then gives the gun to the cops and JJ is stuck with another fine or fee or whatever it is that people get when they have stolen, unregistered weapons.

Instead, Pope just simply huffs out a breath right into JJ's face, closes his eyes, and steps back from JJ. He leans on the counter, and JJ is overcome by how much he looks like his mother does when she's disappointed and about to give her two cents about something. "Please tell me you're joking," he says finally.

JJ smiles, but it's fake, not that Pope could see it anyway- he's still got his eyes closed. JJ shakes his head, looks away, picks at the cuticles on his fingers. "I'm not," JJ whispers, head hung, "It's in my bag." He motions vaguely to his packed bag that sits on the floor beside him.

"What did- You-" Pope says, struggling to find the words to properly handle this situation. He sighs, composes himself, and starts again. It makes the back of JJ's neck sweat. "Why would you take the gun?"

JJ sits, hands crossed in his lap, sitting in a miserable heap with a headache starting to pound in his head. Quietly, he says, "I'm sorry, Pope. I know I shouldn't have-"

"No, JJ," he interrupts, stepping closer like he's irritated with JJ, " _Why_ did you bring it here?"

"He pulled a knife on me, man!" JJ chides quickly, standing up to defend himself. "He was gonna cut me. He _did_ cut me."

Pope looks at him with a mortified expression. "You shot him, didn't you?"

JJ rolls his eyes, visibly cringes his body away for a second. "No, I didn't _shoot_ him," he says, putting a hand on Pope's shoulder and bringing him closer until their faces are just a few inches apart. "He was gonna tear my arm to shreds, so I hit him over the head with it. Then I packed it in my bag in a hurry. I just didn't think about it, okay?"

Pope nods, nearly butts his head against JJ's in the process. JJ doesn't seem to mind though, just keeps close to Pope, like he'll fall apart if he doesn't. "Okay. Yeah," Pope agrees.

JJ thinks that Pope might kiss him then, because Pope's looking down at his lips and then back up to catch his eye. Or maybe JJ's just imagining that, just wishing that Pope _would_ kiss him.

Pope doesn't kiss him.

"We'll take it back to your dad's soon," Pope decides later, when they're getting ready for bed. He's pulling back the blankets and fluffing the pillow, and JJ is across the room, facing away from Pope, changing into his pajamas- his own pajamas, now that he's got his shit back. He hates to admit it, but he kind of misses being wrapped up in Pope's clothes, misses the closeness he could pretend was with Pope rather just his leftover clothing articles.

"What?" he asks, spinning around. His hair is messy after he pulls a tee shirt over his head.

"The gun," Pope explains, motioning for JJ to climb into bed. "We'll take the gun to your dad's house when he's out and leave it there." He tosses his hat on his dresser and lays down beside JJ who instinctively curls into the warmth.

"That's dangerous shit, bro," JJ comments, only halfway believing that Pope would actually want to drop the gun at his father's place. He agrees; the gun can't stay here, potentially jeopardizing the safety and peacefulness of the Heywards, not to mention the trust that JJ has built with them. He throws an arm over Pope's chest with his eyes closed, searches for Pope's face blindly with his hand, gives Pope a benevolent little smack on the cheek. "Turn the light off."

Pope does; he reaches over, JJ's hand sliding away but not entirely breaking contact, switches the lamp off, and lays back down. He glances over at JJ, who looks as if he might already be asleep. JJ, who has a discoloration of never-ending bruises that surface one after the other like a bad cough he just can't seem to get rid of. Pope pats JJ's hand that's resting on his collarbone.

"I'm serious," Pope murmurs. "We'll leave it there and not have to worry about it."

That idea seems just like JJ's style- throw the problem else where and then forget it ever happened. _Deny, deny, deny_.

JJ opens his eyes, peers at Pope with a giddy, sleepy gaze. "Sure," he says softly, grinning with half of his face shoved in the pillow, "Whatever you think. You're the brains, I'm the brawn."

Pope groans dramatically, and they sleep like that, with smiles on their faces and giggles in their throats.

  


* * *

  


"My arm's asleep, dude," Pope says, breaking the morning silence. His voice always gets this kind of tired, husky sound when he just wakes up. JJ loves it, but he wouldn't admit that in a million years.

"Sorry," JJ mumbles, lifting up so that Pope can pull his arm out from under him. He rolls over on his side so he can look at Pope.

He looks over at JJ when he feels the affectionate gaze that JJ saves just for moments like this one- a gaze that he uses only for Pope, only when they're alone like this. It doesn't look like Pope got much sleep last night.

They've been awake for the past twenty minutes, just laying there with the rays of fresh sunshine peaking through the blinds. It's become somewhat of a thing at this point; they do it nearly every morning, and neither of them really talk about it, but what else is new.

"You look like shit, man," JJ's saying, "Like you hardly slept-"

"Shut up," Pope says thoughtlessly, because there are other things on his mind, things that are the reason he looks like shit and didn't sleep well last night.

"What?"

"I mean," Pope pauses, wants to laugh at the offended expression on JJ's face, wants to cry because JJ would throw his life away for Pope if Pope would let him. "Thank you. Y'know, for..." he sighs, "Saving me like that."

JJ furrows his eyebrows, sits up on his elbow. "Like what?" he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Pope rolls his eyes and looks over at him, fingers crossed over his chest. "Seriously?" he replies, and when JJ just gives him an empty look like he has no idea what Pope is on about, he continues. "Telling everybody that you sunk Topper's boat."

JJ grins a little bit, hides his smile in his shoulder so Pope doesn't see it (he does anyway, and it tugs at something inside him). He puts his hand on Pope's chest, pulls at the fabric of his shirt like there's a loose string. He lets the confession sit there for a moment over them. It simmers, and it means something to them. JJ can feel Pope's heartbeat thrumming against his hand, and that means something too.

JJ lets his fingers cross the line from Pope's shirt fabric to his hot skin. The swipe of his fingertips burns Pope everywhere they touch- an easy, familiar burning that isn't unpleasant. Pope swallows, tastes the morning in his mouth, and his Adam's apple bobs just as JJ's fingers are going over it.

He thinks about it for an instant, looking down at Pope's mouth as he has been doing forever, and then JJ's _kissing_ him- full, on the lips, mouth to mouth kissing him, with a built-up pressure that comes from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere JJ didn't even know he had. It's exactly what JJ wants, exactly what JJ has been dreaming of- Pope's mouth warm and pliant against his own, his hands roaming at Pope's shoulder.

Pope hardly gets time to recognize what's going on, let alone respond to the situation, because JJ's pulling away just as quickly as he was leaning in, wiping the kiss off his mouth like it's his first.

He's falling back against the bed, cursing himself, covering his beet-red face with his hands. "Shit, Pope. I'm so sorry," he says, "I shouldn't have done that." Then he's sitting up again, trying to climb over Pope to get off the bed (because the side by the wall is _his_ side now, despite there not being much room for side-picking on Pope's twin bed that he's had since elementary school) and run so that maybe he can keep what is left of his dignity intact with the rest of him.

"Hey," Pope says, putting an arm out in front of JJ to stop him, "It's okay." When JJ shakes his head, scoffs like that's impossible, and tries to pull away, Pope tugs on his shirt, makes him lay back down next to him. He lets his hand linger. "I'm serious, man. I don't mind."

It takes a moment for Pope to realize that there's tears in JJ's eyes, but as soon as he does, he lets his hand rest on JJ's jaw, runs his thumb over the apple of his cheek, wipes away any wetness that's there.

"Are you sure?" JJ asks quietly, eyes wide and unassuming. He puts his hand over Pope's.

Pope nods; he doesn't think he's been more sure of anything else in his life. How could he not be okay with this?

Pope kisses JJ this time, reassuring and warm and welcoming, and this time it's more than what JJ has been dreaming of.

And so it kind of becomes a thing. They kiss sometimes now, like they're together, except they're not. They kiss when they're alone in the bathroom after they've brushed their teeth (because they brush their teeth together, elbows knocking, every night, like they're some old married couple). They kiss when Pope needs a break from reading or studying or other things that JJ isn't quite sure of. They kiss when they wake up in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep because they don't have anything better to do- all messy and slow and languid. They kiss in the kitchen, with Pope pressed against the counter and trapped in JJ's curious arms, when Heyward is at work and Pope's mother is out on the porch.

They kiss, like, all the time, and it kind of drives JJ insane. Not that it's a bad thing, or even an uncomfortable thing. Indeed, JJ finds that he actually quite enjoys it, the whole I-won't-tell-if-you-won't thing, like it's some sneaky, undercover ordeal. Like it's something they flirt around; and sometimes it really feels like they are. Flirting, that is. Because sometimes Pope will say something that's a little risque and send a smirk JJ's way with a little quirk of his eyebrow, and it makes JJ fucking _blush_ every single time. Because sometimes JJ will press an open-mouthed kiss or two on Pope's neck, scrape his teeth a little bit, like he's going to leave a hickey there, like he's going to mark Pope up, like he wants to make this thing official, and it makes Pope squirm and his heartbeat pick up, but JJ never does and the air comes rushing out of Pope's lungs all at once like he had forgotten how to breath.

They don't talk about this either, which is very habitual of them.

Until they're finally allowed out and about without any harsh restrictions relating to the crimes that they were involved in. It's like things are normal again, which is a strange feeling since they don't have John B and things can't really be normal with the gaping absence of him.

They decide to take the boat out anyway- with Kiara because it's been a while since they have all been together under easy-going, ordinary circumstances. She's absolutely glowing, like some goddess from those mythology stories, the bright sun putting a halo of light around her dark hair, the sharp winds making her hide her chin in her shoulder and grin. It's quite likely that she has always been this breathtaking.

They're laughing at something Kiara had said ten minutes ago, curling into themselves because their bellies ache. JJ's laying on his side, his eyes wet from laughter, next to Pope, whose giggles are starting to subside. He puts an innocent hand on JJ's shoulder, and it makes a few questioning thoughts run through Kiara's mind before she's shrugging it off.

But then JJ's tilting his head Pope's way, looking up at him like he put the stars in the sky- the yearnful, puppy-dog look he always gets when he's thinking of kissing Pope. Although, he's never given Pope that look with other people around to witness it, and he most definitely has never kissed Pope under the watch of someone else. Now, though, Pope is worried that he will- not that that would entirely be a bad thing. Kiara is probably the most trustworthy person he has ever met, not to mention that she is a good friend; but it still makes his stomach harden up in dread like cement.

JJ doesn't kiss him. Instead, he grabs Pope's hand and plays with his fingers, which is not at all uncommon when JJ is under the influence. Pope quickly realizes that JJ hasn't been under the influence since that night at Pope's house with the milk and cookies.

"Are y'all screwing?" Kiara asks suddenly, eyebrows knitted together in intrigue with an expression on her face like she's just discovered something very obvious. Had Pope been drinking anything, he's positive that he would have just spit it all out in shock.

_Are we screwing? As in, like, having sex?_

"No!" Pope answers heatedly, yanking his hand away from JJ like he had been scalded.

JJ scoffs, rolls his head from left to right. "I wish," he mumbles, and it's a miracle Pope doesn't have a heart attack right then and there.

Pope springs his head up to look at Kiara and see if she had heard that smart-ass remark that they will most certainly be discussing later.

"It's okay, y'know," she says sincerely, tucking some hair behind her ear. JJ's looking at her now, waiting for her to laugh. She doesn't. "If you _are_ screwing. I don't care." To Pope, though, it kind of sounds like she does care- a lot. Why does Pope get to have what he wants with his best friend but Kiara has to suffer the loss of her muse, unable to do anything, after she was forced to sit back and watch helplessly as her best friend fell in love with her other best friend and then glided to the bottom of the ocean together like they were in some corny, tear-jerker romance movie?

She gazes off to the side, somewhere at the shiny water with a pointed, bitter look in her eyes. She isn't jealous of Pope or JJ; she's jealous of them both, together, of what they are able to have.

"We're not screwing, Kie," JJ says, to Pope's surprise. Head angled toward the enigma of a girl sitting opposite them, JJ gives her a reassuring half-smile.

Pope clears his throat theatrically, waits for Kie to look over at him. "We aren't screwing, but we..." he trails off, voice lingering because he doesn't really know how to say it, doesn't really know if he wants to say it because what if he says it wrong?

"We mack on each other," JJ finishes in a far more confident voice than Pope thinks he could ever muster. "I know it's against the rules but, like, who the fuck came up with that rule anyway? And why? If I can't mack on a Pogue, who am I supposed to have kids with?"

Kiara makes a tired expression- all quirked eyebrows and tilted lips- but Pope knows it's because JJ doesn't know who to have kids with and not because they mack on each other. It's a funny look, one that makes Pope want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Anyway," JJ continues after a pregnant pause. He waves his hands in the air the way he does when he's kind of nervous. "I'm, like, gay or whatever."

Kiara's eyes widen because she was not expecting that in the least. She purses her lips, tries to think of something to say. What would she want someone to say to her if she came out?

But Pope's speaking before she has the chance, face full of uncertainty. "You are?" he's asking frantically.

JJ twists around so that he can look up at Pope again and gives him a strange, confused look that says _obviously, duh, are you really asking me that right now_?

Kiara, something wild behind her beautiful brown eyes, crosses over to sit with them. She swats at JJ to sit up, and then she is sitting between them, arm slung over JJ's shoulder and leaning into his side.

"I'm proud of you," she says quietly to him, and it makes him get this bashful, happy expression on his face that's similar to how he used to look when his mother would tell him he did a good job on a school project or flipped a pancake without spilling the batter. Then Kiara is wrapping her other arm around Pope's shoulder and pulling him in close. "Both of you."

  


* * *

  


That night, JJ is sitting at Pope's desk trying diligently to solve a Rubik's cube. More than once, he has seen Pope finish these within a matter of minutes, and it frustrates him that he can never figure out the secret to it. He has yet to solve one.

It's dark out already, and the temperature is starting to drop but the afternoon heat is still sweltering the inside of Pope's room.

"So..." Pope says just to break the ice (because ever since they got home it's been kind of awkward between to two of them). He's doing nothing- which is out of the ordinary considering that by this hour, he's the one sitting at the desk and focusing on a study- just laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. "You wish we were screwing?"

JJ makes an unsatisfied scoffing noise in his throat like he knew Pope was going to ask him that but that he was naively hoping he wouldn't. He closes his eyes and hangs his head. "Dude, do we really have to talk about this?"

Pope sits up and scoots to the very edge of the bed so that he can be close to JJ. "Yeah," Pope says calmly. He pulls at a few strands of JJ's hair so that he'll look back at him. "We do. Were you serious?"

JJ sighs; he's uncomfortable. He tries to adjust himself in the seat but it's no use. "Yes," JJ answers, gulps, looks down at his hands so that he doesn't have to see Pope's face when he says this. "I wish you were my boyfriend too but I don't have the guts to ask you."

Pope's vision goes a little fuzzy at that. He has to take a moment to process that, make sure he heard it right. There's so much that he wants to do- kiss JJ, hard on the mouth; hug him and never let him go; declare to the world that he feels something very strongly for this boy- but it's like there's a magnet keeping him on the bed. He tries to move a little closer so that he can lay a gentle hand on JJ's arm. "Just ask me," he advises in a quiet voice as if to not scare him off like a wild animal.

"I couldn't."

"JJ-"

"I can't, Pope," he's saying as he stands up from the chair and makes a show of turning around to wave out his arms. "I can't do that."

Pope goes to him, grabs him by the neck like JJ did to him at Midsummer's, like JJ has done to him many times after that. "Trust someone else, okay?" he offers, and it all feels very familiar, like maybe Pope is doing that intentionally, "Ask me."

JJ does a little stomping thing with his boot-clad feet like he's a child about to throw a temper tantrum. He doesn't, though, and instead moves closer to Pope, perhaps out of habit. "Will you be my boyfriend?" he whispers quietly because Pope's hands are holding his face no more than three inches from his, and JJ's afraid that if he speaks too loudly the whole thing will dissipate- the room will fall away in chunks and pieces, the words will vanish as if they were never spoken, and Pope will float and wisp away like smoke right through JJ's ringed fingers.

But Pope's nodding, and then he's smiling too, and it isn't the amused, _I-just-played-a-dirty-trick-on-you_ kind of smirk that JJ was expecting. "Yes," he answers happily, pushing a thumb under JJ's jaw so that he has to look Pope in the eye. "I will. Absolutely."

"Yeah?" JJ questions, still a little unsure. Pope nods again, and then JJ's dimples are starting to deepen with a grin. "Okay. Can I kiss you?"

Pope rolls his eyes playfully, tosses his head to the side. "When have you ever had to ask that stupid question?"

So JJ kisses him, and Pope kisses him back.


End file.
